


The Midnight Cafe

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Series: Supernatural Cafe AU [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dragons, Fae & Fairies, Get Together, Immortals, M/M, Magic, Supernatural Hunters, Vampires, supernatural cafe AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton, ordinary human, ends up working at a cafe catering to New York's secret supernatural population.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Midnight Cafe

**Author's Note:**

> So, earlier this year, I bought the fantastic _[The Shambling Guide to New York City](http://www.amazon.com/Shambling-Guide-York-City-Guides/dp/0316221171/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1371129240&sr=1-1&keywords=the+shambling+guide+to+new+york+city)_ by Mur Lafferty. Loved it. There's a character called Phil in it, though, and it drove me crazy how much he [reminded me](http://aceofannwn.livejournal.com/94259.html) of Phil Coulson. By the time I finished reading the book, I seriously wanted a Clint/Coulson vampire!Coulson AU.
> 
> Was reminded of this fact yesterday, so I sat down and wrote it. Here it is.

**The Midnight Cafe**

Clint studied the ad in the window.

He almost hadn’t noticed the café. It was a little hole-in-the-wall place, tucked out of sight down an alley, and Clint had been cutting through it as a shortcut home when he suddenly noticed, hey, a café open in the middle of the night.

According to the ad in the window, they were hiring.

Clint debated with himself for a moment. It wasn’t like he had much experience as a waiter, but then he didn’t have much experience of anything, outside wowing crowds with a bow and arrow. And working in a café couldn’t be that hard, right?

The café was bigger inside than Clint had expected. As he walked in, a kind of hush fell and Clint was aware of the eyes on him. Wondering what was up, he approached the woman a the counter.

“Uh, hi.”

“Can I help you?” Her tone was cold, and her expression unfriendly.

“Uh, yeah, I saw in the window that you’re looking for more staff?” It came out as a question. “And, uh, I’m looking for work, so…”

“We don’t hire people like you,” the woman said flatly. Clint blinked.

“People like me?” he repeated, feeling the stirrings of anger. Sure, he was dressed pretty casual, and he could probably do with a haircut, but what the hell?

“Is there a problem?” asked a new voice. A man appeared beside the dark-haired woman.

“Yeah, apparently you don’t hire ‘people like me,’ ” Clint drawled, as he took in the newcomer. Middle-aged, not spectacular-looking or anything, but he wore a suit well and had nice eyes.

The guy sent the woman at the counter a questioning glance, and she looked a little embarrassed, but sent him a meaningful look.

The guy in the suit looked back at Clint.

“It’s nothing personal,” he said mildly. “It’s just that we don’t hire humans.”

Clint stared at him.

“Humans,” he repeated.

“To be honest, I’m a little curious about how you got past the notice-me-not spell,” the guy added. “We’ve never had a problem with it before.”

“Humans,” Clint said again. “You don’t hire humans. Right, is that some kind of joke?”

“No joke,” said the guy in the suit. His eyes on Clint were thoughtful. “What’s your name?”

“Clint.” Clint wondered what the hell was going on, and if he’d wondered into some sort of café for crazy people.

Suit Guy studied him. It was an unexpectedly piercing look, and Clint squirmed a little under it.

“Clint. You willing to work night hours?”

“ _Phil_ ,” hissed the dark-haired woman, but the guy in the suit- Phil – ignored her.

“Yes sir,” Clint responded immediately. He could work in a crazy café if it meant a job and actual money.

“Hmm. Come with me.”

“Phil lifted up the countertop so that Clint could walk through. Clint did so. The dark-haired woman gave an aggravated sigh, but said nothing as Clint followed Phil out the back, even though her expression was doubtful.

“Our establishment caters to the secret supernatural population of New York,” Phil explained, as they headed into the back rooms.

“Say what now?”

Phil stopped, and turned to face Clint, looking serious.

“Let me show you something.”

The next moment he opened his mouth, wide and with his lips curling back from his teeth, and Clint… stared, mostly, at the prominent, sharp-looking fangs protruding from the man’s gums.

“Wow,” he said at last, his mind spinning. “Are you…”

“I’m a vampire,” Phil confirmed, and continued walking. 

They emerged into a large kitchen, where a red-headed woman was loading a tray with plates of food, and the handsomest blonde man Clint had ever seen was cooking at a deep fryer.

“Guys,” said Phil, walking into the room, “this is Clint. He might be joining our wait staff.”

Both the red-headed woman and the blonde man glanced around.

The blonde man looked flustered.

“Oh! Is he–”

“Human,” said the woman darkly.

Phil kept on talking as though they hadn’t said a thing.

“Clint, this is Natasha, she’s wait staff, and also happens to be a vampire. And this is Steve, or resident chef, who’s cursed with immortality until he finds his true love.”

“I’m not really a chef,” Steve protested, flushing a little. Clint wondered if it was at being referred to as a chef, or the mention of the true love curse. “Just a cook, although I do okay, I guess. It’s good to meet you, Clint.”

“You’re hiring a human? Really?” Natasha asked, watching Phil.

“Potentially,” said Phil, and Natasha’s eyes narrowed.

“Potentially hiring, or potentially human?”

Phil just smiled at her.

Natasha rolled her eyes, and said something grumpy in what sounded like Russian.

“So,” Phil asked, as Clint stood there still trying to absorb everything, “do you feel you can work with us?”

Clint took another look at Steve, who was smiling politely, and at Natasha, who was eyeing him speculatively, and glanced back at Phil.

“It might take some adjusting, but sure. As long as, like, I’m not going to get eaten, or anything.”

“We’ll put measures in place,” said Phil, which wasn’t reassuring at all.

“Wait, you mean people _might_ try and eat me?” Clint asked in alarm, while Natasha smirked.

And that was how Clint Barton ended up working at a supernatural café.

* * *

Clint settled into working at the café surprisingly well. It was weird at first, particularly dealing with some of the more obviously non-human customers, but Clint did his best to be polite and hide how unnerved he sometimes was, and pretty soon he was getting used to dealing with the population of New York’s secret supernatural society.

Steve was the first to befriend him. As far as the other man was concerned, there wasn’t much difference between them, for all one of them was part of the supernatural community and one wasn’t: it just so happened that Steve was under a curse, and Clint wasn’t. Even if he’d been properly supernatural himself, Steve had added, it would have been rude and prejudiced to hold Clint’s humanity against him.

“It was a wizard,” said Steve, when Clint asked him about the curse. “He meant it as a gift, I think. I used to worry that I’d never meet a nice girl and settle down, with all the battles and quests going on, and I suppose he thought he’d help me out.”

“Battles?”

“I was a knight.” Steve’s expression was complicated; half-bashful pride, half-rueful. “So he cast a spell that stopped me from ageing until I find my true love, but after the first girl I ever courted was killed and I kept on living…” Steve looked away. “I realised it was a curse. I would have spent the rest of my life with her and been happy enough, but she wasn’t my true love, I guess.” 

His voice was soft and sad. Clint patted him awkwardly on the back, which Steve seemed to appreciate.

Clint won over Natasha next, although he never was sure exactly how.

“What did you do before this?” she asked one night, when business was slow. It often was, before midnight. Clint glanced at her in surprise; Natasha was civil enough, but she usually only chatted to Steve or Maria.

“I had a gig in the circus,” he replied. Natasha’s eyes went bright with interest.

“The circus? Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Clint admitted. “I was an archer, and not to brag, but I’m a pretty good shot.”

“Huh. You don’t see many archers around, these days.” Natasha prodded him with her elbow. “I want proof.”

So the next time Clint had a shift scheduled he brought with him a couple of posters advertising The Amazing Hawkeye, and Natasha was amused enough to pin one up on the community noticeboard at the back of the café, and Clint must have done something right because after that they were friends. They got along really well, and pretty soon Clint was always the one Natasha came to with gossip and stories.

Maria didn’t warm up to Clint at all. She glared at him a lot, and was brusque when she had to talk to him. Natasha told Clint not to worry about it: _bean sidhe_ were usually like that about humans, unless they were howling about a death. So Clint shrugged, and stayed polite, and did his best to keep out of Maria’s way.

Then there was Phil. Phil was polite and friendly, and his smile, Clint discovered, was as nice as his eyes. He was also in control of every situation, without ever losing an ounce of politeness or patience with customers or staff.

“He’s old,” said Natasha. “Really old. I heard he was part of a Roman legion, back before he was turned. No one knows for sure, but it takes a long, long time to perfect that sort of control.”

“How old are you?” Clint asked idly.

“Older than you.”

“How much older than me?”

“Never ask a lady her age,” said Natasha, and they got into a friendly wrestling match (that Clint was losing badly) until some customers came in and Natasha deigned to drop Clint on the floor.

It wasn’t all fun and interesting, of course: sometimes a customer came in who thought Clint should be on the menu, and then Maria or Phil would step in, depending on which one of them was in that night. Unlike Maria however, Phil also stopped customers from trash-talking Clint for being human, requesting firmly that they show civility to the wait staff. Every time he did, Clint flushed, feeling warm and grateful inside.

Clint had it bad, he knew. Of all the people to develop a crush on, his vampire boss was probably the worst choice possible. (Well. Except for Maria.) But he couldn’t help it. Phil was so professional and adept at handling people and _nice,_ and it didn’t help that his suits were expertly tailored.

“I need help,” he groaned, when he realised that he’d been staring at Phil – again – and that Natasha was silently laughing at him.

Natasha said something in Russian that sounded like agreement.

“Shut up.”

Natasha just ruffled his hair pityingly, and went off to deliver someone’s order.

* * *

They’d just opened for the night when a goateed guy wearing a flashy purple suit and sunglasses walked in and loudly ordered an espresso. Natasha was manning the counter at the time, and she simply gave a fanged smile as the guy checked her out appreciatively.

Clint gaped as he headed towards the coffee machine.

“ _Tony Stark_ is one of the supernatural?” he hissed to Natasha as he went past, while Stark was checking his tablet. “Wait, no, that explains _everything_.”

“Clint,” said Steve, walking out from the back, “can you help me for a minute? One of the knobs on the stove isn’t really–” Steve’s eyes settled on Stark, and his eyes went wide and shocked even as his voice went soft and dreamy, “ _working._ ”

Stark, when Clint glanced at him, looked just as stunned.

“You’re my mate,” he told Steve disbelievingly. “Wow. Never thought that would happen.”

Steve only stared at Stark wonderingly.

“What is he?” Clint asked Natasha in an undertone, but not quietly enough, because Stark snapped out of his stupor and gave Clint a toothy grin.

“I’m a dragon, kid. Have the biggest hoard in the world, actually, in dollars as well as gold.”

He looked back at Steve, and his expression went stunned again. Steve was smiling at him, so it was understandable. Clint had genuinely never met a more attractive person, even if his tastes ran towards someone different. He handed Stark the espresso, who took it absently.

“So,” Stark said, suddenly tentative, “you want to… talk?”

Steve glanced at the kitchen and back, looking torn.

“I’ve-”

“Go,” Phil interrupted, appearing from the back rooms. “Clint can cover for you. Clint?”

“Not a problem, boss,” Clint said quickly. Then he remembered why Steve had come out front in the first place, and added, “At least, as long as the stove is working.”

Phil sighed.

“Let me take a look at it.”

The two of them withdrew to the kitchen as Steve and Stark found a relatively uncrowded corner to sit down in.

Clint glanced at the various orders as Phil examined the stove.

“So,” said Clint, surprising himself, “I guess Steve is mortal now.”

Phil glanced at him.

“It seems likely.”

“Stark seemed pretty shocked,” Clint mused.

Phil smiled a little.

“Dragons usually find their mate early in life,” he explained kindly. “But Howard Stark was also an exception, so it’s not all that surprising.”

“Man, do you know everything?” Clint blurted.

Phil really did smile then, warm and amused. Clint’s stomach did a little flip.

“I’ve had a lot of time to accumulate information.”

“That’s what Natasha said,” said Clint, before he could stop himself.

Phil looked curious.

“You two talk about me?”

“Uh.” Clint felt the tell-tale blush spread over his face. “I was asking her about everyone, when I first got here.”

“And Natasha answered you? Interesting.”

Phil frowned down at the stove. 

“I think there’s a connection loose, or something. We’ll have to have someone in to fix it.” He looked back at Clint. “Can you still use it, for the moment?”

From someone else there might have been expectation or pressure in their tone, but from Phil, it was an honest question.

Clint took another look at the waiting orders.

“I should be able to manage,” he decided.

He received an approving smile, and felt himself blush again. Damn it.

“If you find you have a problem, let me know,” said Phil. His smile was amused again, and Clint realised, with horrified resignation, that his boss had finally caught on to Clint’s crush.

“Thanks,” Clint muttered, mortified, and Phil left him to it.

* * *

Steve decided to continue working at the café, despite Stark’s objections: he liked the work and the people, and, he apparently told Stark sternly, he wasn’t going to be some kind of ‘kept man.’ The result was that Stark started hanging around the café a lot, alternating between drinking a thousand coffees as he played with his tablet and making a nuisance of himself visiting Steve in the kitchen. Steve seemed a lot happier, though, so Clint was willing to put up with it, even if Natasha fantasised about murdering Stark in horrible ways, recounting these fantasies to Clint in disturbing detail.

Natasha was still oddly fascinated with Clint’s former career as a circus archer, and one night she insisted he bring his bow and arrows in the next night so that after work, they could head to a place Natasha knew of, where Clint could show off his skills.

Clint agreed, which might not have been the best idea.

“Why is there a bow and arrows in the kitchen?” Phil’s voice called out.

“Shit, sorry, those are mine,” Clint called back. “I promised Tasha I’d show her my skills later.”

Phil appeared in the doorway. 

“You’re an archer?”

Clint felt his face pull into a smug grin.

“The Amazing Hawkeye, at your service,” he said, and gave a flourishing bow.

Phil snorted.

“The Amazing Hawkeye?”

“It was my circus name,” Clint told him, grinning. Phil gave Clint a look like he was trying to work out if Clint was pulling his leg.

“You were in the circus?”

“From the time I was eight, yeah. Me and my brother–” Clint stopped, swallowing hard, as he realised what he’d just said. The reminder of Barney hurt. “Anyway, the circus took me in when I was a kid. This is the first job I’ve had that wasn’t shooting arrows or throwing knives.”

“You can throw knives?” Natasha demanded, appearing next to Clint. He would have been startled, except that he had learnt by now that vampires were basically ninjas. “So can I. We must see who is better.”

“Um.”

“Tomorrow,” Natasha decided, her voice firm.

There was no arguing with Natasha when she was like that.

“Yeah, okay,” Clint agreed. He noticed that Phil was smirking at him, and found himself smiling ruefully. “Oh, come on, boss, like I could say no.”

Phil just continued smirking as he disappeared back into the office out back.

It was near the end of Clint’s shift – Darcy and Loki had just turned up for the late night shift – when Natasha suddenly froze, staring out the café windows, eyes wide.

“Tasha?” Clint asked, glancing at the group of people outside. The next moment something came crashing through the glass, and everything erupted into chaos.

“Hunters!” someone screamed, and Clint heard Darcy’s voice shriek, “ _Oh, shit!_ ”

The group of hunters came through the smashed glass, already shooting. Beings who should have been able to resist ordinary bullets collapsed to the floor, where they were trampled by other customers either trying to escape or fight the hunters.

Clint swore to himself and ran for the kitchens, brushing past Phil as he went. He’d left his bow and arrows near the back door. Clint grabbed them up, already readying his bow and nocking an arrow.

Ready to fight, the blood pounding in his ears, Clint made his way back to the front of the café.

It felt like Clint had been gone for minutes, but in reality it could only have been a few seconds. Clint emerged from the back rooms just in time to see two men grab hold of Phil, and a third lunge with a stake.

Clint’s first arrow went through the stake wielder’s eye. Before the other two men knew what was happening, they were crumpling to the floor with an arrow in the throat and the heart respectively. Phil sent a single wide-eyed glance Clint’s way before diving back into action against the hunters.

Clint, meanwhile, was already taking out another couple of targets, although he had to duck down behind the counter when one of the hunters started shooting at him. The shooting only lasted a couple of seconds before it stopped, and then there was relative silence.

Clint peered above the counter to see that all of the hunters were dead, or had escaped. There were several bodies across the floor, and Clint noted with bleak satisfaction the five human ones with arrows protruding from them, before his gaze panned over the rest of the room. Clint straightened. Darcy was crying and bleeding, a look of furious rage on her face, as an equally furious-looking Loki did something with magic to her injured arm. Natasha dropped down from the ceiling as Clint watched, next to a small child huddling in petrified horror by the body of her mother.

Phil was standing there, taking in the tableau with a look of cold anger on his face. As Clint looked at him Phil glanced in his direction, and for a moment their eyes held. Phil gave Clint a slow nod, and Clint nodded solemnly in return.

Then Phil started giving orders, dealing with the injured and the bodies of the dead, and Clint heaved a deep breath, adrenalin still pumping, and went to stick his bow and remaining arrows back in the kitchen out of the way. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

When the café was empty and the bodies had all been taken away, and Stark had turned up in irate near-hysterics to whisk Steve home, Clint sat down heavily at one of the café tables. Natasha joined him a moment later, nudging him and passing him a cup of coffee. Clint gave her a grateful look, and Natasha gazed steadily back.

Darcy sat in one of the empty chairs with a thump.

“You killed for us,” she declared, staring at Clint in amazement. “Jesus, are you crazy?”

Clint shrugged uncomfortably.

“They attacked first.”

“Yeah, but you’re _human_ ,” Darcy emphasised. “You attacked your _own_. Why the hell would you do that?”

“I guess you guys have grown on me,” Clint admitted. He hesitated, but decided to tell the truth. “Look, I never fit in anywhere. I tried, but it never worked. But this place? Sure, it’s nuts, and half the customers want to eat me, but… I’ve got friends here.”

“Wow. You really _are_ crazy.”

“Do not belittle his loyalty,” Loki said imperiously. Clint still didn’t know if the man was human but magic, or some kind of supernatural being, or what. “Precious few humans understand their place.”

Clint gave him the finger. Loki smirked at him.

“That was good shooting,” a quiet voice said, and Clint turned to look up at Phil, to see something in the blue eyes that Clint couldn’t define.

“I never miss a target,” Clint said sombrely. He looked down into his coffee, remembering the side-jobs his brother had forced them both to take. He shuddered, and took a sip of his coffee. 

“The first time you’ve killed, I take it?” Loki asked pityingly.

“No,” Clint said shortly.

“Wait, really?” Darcy leaned forward. “You’ve killed other humans _before?_ ”

“My brother had a debt,” Clint said, not looking up from his coffee. “It was the only way to pay it. So I did, and then I told him that was it, I wasn’t helping him with his stupid plans anymore, and I left. Left him, the circus, everything.”

Clint was very aware of Natasha’s arm pressed up against his own, and her steady regard.

“Wow,” Darcy said sympathetically. “That sucks.”

Her words surprised a rusty chuckle from Clint.

“You could say that.”

“All of you should go home,” Phil told them crisply. “It’ll take a few days to have the place cleaned up and the glass fixed. Until then, take some time off.”

Clint saluted Phil with his cup of coffee.

“Got it, boss.”

“Come on,” said Natasha. “I’ll walk you home. Make sure no one’s waiting to jump you on the way.”

“Oh, great,” said Clint, but he went to collect his bow and arrows.

* * *

Clint got a call the next night.

“Barton,” he said into the receiver.

“Clint,” said a familiar voice, and Clint jerked to attention as he realised that _Phil_ was calling him.

“Phil?” he questioned. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you could do me a favour,” Phil said.

“Sure,” Clint said at once, even knowing that it was a stupid thing to do, agreeing before he knew what he was being asked to do. “What do you need?”

There was a short pause, before Phil answered. 

“I’ve arranged for people to come and replace the glass tomorrow,” Phil admitted, “but they’ll only come during daylight hours, and since Maria is away–”

“You need someone to be there?” Clint finished, understanding Phil’s predicament.

“Exactly. Would you mind?”

“Nah. It’s not a problem,” said Clint. “Do I need the keys, or –”

“I’ll leave them in your mail slot tonight,” said Phil. “The glass guys said they’ll be there sometime after eight.”

“Cool. Wait. You know where I live?”

“You’re human,” said Phil, and since it was through the phone Clint could only guess at his expression. “It seemed wise to monitor your movements in case you were a hunter sent undercover.” 

“Oh.” Clint wasn’t sure what to say. “Well, you know I’m not now, right?”

“Yes,” Phil agreed. His voice, Clint realised suddenly, sounded fond. “I know.”

Clint didn’t know what to do with that.

“Okay,” he tried, “I guess I’ll be there tomorrow at eight.”

“I appreciate it,” said Phil.

* * *

Watching the plate glass be installed was boring, and Clint was tired, no longer used to being awake so early in the day. He was glad to get home when it was all done, and catch up on his sleep.

He’d barely been awake half an hour that night when there was a knock on his door. Clint opened it to see Phil standing there. Like an idiot, Clint just stared at him for a moment before Phil explained, 

“I’m here for my keys.”

“Oh, right,” Clint replied, trying to remember where he’d put them. “You want to come in for a second?”

Phil’s expression, for just a second, was priceless.

“You’re _inviting_ me? Into your apartment?” he asked, and Clint remembered, oh yeah, vampire.

“I figure that if you kill me, you’ll need to hire a new waiter,” Clint said flippantly, and headed back into the living room for his jacket.

“You are the most reckless human being I know,” Phil said wonderingly, his tone almost angry as he followed Clint into the apartment.

“You know many humans?” Clint asked.

“Just you,” said Phil, and Clint turned from retrieving Phil’s keys to find Phil standing barely an inch away. Clint’s eyes went wide, and his heartbeat picked up, and for a second he didn’t know if Phil was going to – 

Phil kissed him.

It took Clint a second, but then he kissed back. He had to be kind of careful because of the fangs, but it was still pretty good.

Phil pulled back.

“I cannot believe you,” he said. “Do you have a death wish?”

Clint wasn’t sure whether Phil was still going on about Clint letting him into the apartment, or the kissing.

“Not as far as I know? But I am best friends with Natasha, so maybe.”

Phil stood there for a moment and breathed.

“You’re impossible,” he said, but then he kissed Clint again, so Clint was just fine with that.

He dropped the keys, but that was okay. He could find them again later.

* * *

“Why me?” Clint asked Phil later. “I mean, Tasha’s told me about the hypnotism thing – so why, when you can have anyone–”

“Maybe I want someone who wants me for who I really am,” Phil murmured into Clint’s ear, and Clint couldn’t argue with that.

* * *

The mood when the café reopened the next night was sombre, at least until Clint got too close to Natasha, and her eyes widened as her nostrils flared.

“You smell like Phil,” she said, staring at him in disbelief.

“Really?” Clint tried.

“My God, I can’t believe your ridiculous little crush paid off,” said Natasha. 

Clint blushed.

“Tell me everything,” Natasha ordered.

“No!” Clint squawked.

“You will,” was all Natasha said, before she went back into the kitchens to start delivering orders. Clint took his place at the counter, and waited for the next customer.

It turned out she had allergies, so she needed her food done exactly a certain way. Clint sympathised.

“Man, that must be tough,” he said. “I’ve got an allergy myself; I found out when I was a kid that if I touch iron, I get like, this burn wherever it touches my skin. Nickel, steel, bronze, I’m fine, but iron? Burns.”

Clint realised that not only the customer, but Natasha and Phil were standing there staring at him.

“What?”

Phil made an odd, strangled sound.

“Clint.” Natasha’s expression was somewhere between incredulous and patient. “Being unable to touch iron is a sign of fae blood.”

Clint blinked.

“You mean…?”

“You’re at least part-fae,” said Phil, looking torn between amusement and exasperation. “Well. That explains why the notice-me-not charm doesn’t work on you.”

“You’re saying I’m supernatural?” Clint asked, astonished. 

“ _Bozhe moi_ ,” Natasha muttered. “Yes. You are supernatural.”

“Huh,” said Clint. “Shouldn’t there be some way to tell?”

“You’re probably under a glamour,” Phil advised. “Ask Loki when he comes in for his shift; he should be able to check.”

Clint spent the rest of the night wondering if Phil and Natasha were right. 

At the end of Clint’s shift, he explained to Loki about the possible glamour, and Loki agreed to check if there was one, and remove it if so. Darcy overheard and insisted on being there to watch, and Steve and Natasha said the same. So Clint ended up in the corner of the café, with Steve, Darcy, Natasha and Phil all watching as Loki _hmm_ ed over him.

“Ah, here we are,” Loki said suddenly, and Clint closed his eyes as Loki did something that made him shiver all over.

It felt like something peeling away from Clint’s face and fading away. Clint opened his eyes to see everyone staring at him with varying expressions.

“What? Has anything changed? Do I look any different?”

“Hold on, Legolas,” said Darcy, rummaging through her purse for a small hand mirror. Clint took it, and gazed at his reflection. His face was subtly different, giving him a strange, ethereal sort of look, and that was before he even got to the ears. They were pointed, like a Vulcan’s, but normal-sized.

Clint lowered the mirror, and his eyes met Phil’s. Phil just smiled reassuringly.

“It’s a good look for you.”

Clint grinned back at him, and looked back at his reflection in the hand mirror.

“So,” he said aloud, “I guess I do belong here, after all.” The thought was a nice one.

“Do you wish me to restore the glamour, or would you rather gape at yourself some more?” asked Loki, sounding bored.

“You know, you’re kind of a dick,” Clint told him.

“Preach it, bro,” Darcy agreed.

Clint ran a hand over the top of his left ear, feeling the point there. It felt unfamiliar.

“Can you restore the glamour, but leave the ears out of it?” Clint asked.

“I can,” Loki agreed.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, looking concerned. “Hunters will know you for what you are.”

Clint shrugged.

“So will customers, and the hunters already know I’m an enemy. Hey, Loki. You reckon you can teach me how to pull off a glamour myself?”

Loki made a show of looking Clint up and down.

“Possibly,” Loki sniffed disdainfully.

“Can you think of anyone in your family who might have cast a glamour on you as a child?” Natasha suggested.

Clint shook his head. He barely remembered his parents, but neither of them struck him as the type to be secretly magic.

“The glamour might not necessarily have been cast by someone else,” Phil said thoughtfully. “Some people with fae blood are capable of casting an unconscious glamour, based on what they believe themselves to be.”

“Instinctive magic,” said Loki, looking suddenly calculating. “Clint. Picture yourself as you wish to look, and imagine yourself taking on that form.”

Clint closed his eyes and did so. It felt like a thousand gossamer threads falling over him, like he’d walked through a cobweb.

“Instinctive magic,” said Loki, sounding smug and satisfied.

Clint opened his eyes again, and this time when he looked in the hand mirror, his usual face was staring back. His ears were still all pointy, though, just like he’d wanted.

“Interesting as this has been, you do all have jobs to do,” Phil reminded Steve, Darcy and Loki. “Natasha, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“And me, boss?” Clint asked, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

Phil grinned.

“How do you feel about helping me with paperwork?”

“I’d make a pretty good distraction?” Clint offered.

Phil smiled, and raised one eyebrow. Clint grinned, and followed Phil back to his office.

“You two better not have sex in there!” Darcy called after them.

“That would be most unhygienic,” Clint heard Loki say.

Natasha just punched Clint in the arm as she went past, her mouth quirked in a tiny, genuine smile.

Clint grinned, and figured he had it pretty good.  
 


End file.
